#SpringWhispers

[verdantvisionsai]

Step into an ethereal spring soft white cherry blossom wonderland, where delicate petals dance upon the breeze like snowflakes in a dream. Witness nature's gentle embrace in the soft glow of sunlight, painting a picture of serenity and beauty that fills the heart with pure admiration. Sink into this tranquil moment, where time stands still and the world feels wrapped in a peaceful, enchanting spell.

[fio-renze]

Becoming a citizen was going to take some time — that’s what the lawyer had said, at least. Not that the timeline mattered too much, there were reasons to avoid Silvermoon that weren’t related to her fears around the intelligence wing of the Magistry claiming that the memories of her former projects were government property and seizing them. 

There were reasons to stay fairly well hidden in Dalaran, too; at the very least it made sense to avoid some of the more public spaces where people she knew tended to congregate. The floating city, with its hard boundaries, was still fairly large and had quarters she hadn’t spent much time exploring. Fiorenze’s realtor had tipped her off about the upcoming sale of a modest flat in a tower that had been converted into a multi-unit situation — a rarity, and certainly a situation not worth passing up. 

It certainly wasn’t the Sunmote Tower; just a single floor, segmented up into a kitchen, a sitting room, a guest room with its own small bathroom, a master bedroom with its own large bathroom, and a couple terraces like most of the tower living quarters tended to have. The carefully curated style of the wooden floors and wall moldings made it pretty clear that it had once likely belonged to an entire household that likely spanned a couple more levels above and below. 

Now it was hers, and mostly empty. The down-payment alone had taken a decent chunk out of her funds left over from the settlement with Sheizara Tel’vaiel, and while she certainly wasn’t destitute, she didn’t want to touch the gold she’d sequestered away for investments. Getting some kind of a job was starting to seem more and more prudent as the days drew on. 

Pyraelia had kindly offered to put in a good word with the Violet Citadel for her, they were always in need of clerks and reliable administrators. It was a safe bet, but seemed horrendously mind numbing and tedious. 

Fate, fickle mistress as she was, smiled a bit during one of her small adventures in her new neighborhood cluster. There was a little flower shop tucked away at the base of one of the grander towers, and she’d ducked in to see about a couple bouquets and vases to help brighten up the new apartment. The bell above the door jingled and Fiorenze was met with an immediate shout from the back of, “I’m SO sorry, we’re closed!” 

The florist hurried out immediately, an extremely harried look on her half-elven face as she looked at Fiorenze and the sign on the door that still very much was turned to ‘Open’. Fio raised an eyebrow and smiled politely, “Of course, I.. well, this is probably a bit of a forward question, but do you need any help? My name is Fiorenze Sunmote, I’ve just moved in down the street…” It seemed like she needed help, and it was bad luck to not seize what seemed like a good opportunity. 

“My employee hasn’t shown up for the third time this week and there’s a wedding in the citadel that I have to start setting up in less than an hour—” the florist paused as Fiorenze’s question caught up to her, “Do you have experience with floral arrangements?” 

Fiorenze smiled brightly and nodded, “I do, I am well versed in the language of flowers and previously worked in an antiques shop in Silvermoon City, so I know how to work a till.” She certainly didn’t remember how to work a till, but how hard could it be? Not to mention she’d been fired from Brasspride & Birchleaf’s, but that was a different time and circumstance. 

“I’m Emeli Springwhisper, it’s very nice to meet you. I do need the help, but I don’t know you,” she reached up to brush the pieces of black hair that had fallen out of her messy bun back behind her short, pointed ears, “and I really need to be going. Would you mind coming back by tomorrow with a resume and flipping the open sign to closed on your way out?”

That was, at least, not an outright no. “Of course! I don’t mind at all, more than happy to. I’ll come back first thing tomorrow morning — I hope the wedding goes well, the flowers smell amazing from here!” Fiorenze left one of her personal contact cards on the main counter as Emeli immediately rushed back to whatever she had been doing.  

At the very least, Fiorenze liked flowers more than she had liked antiques, and even if it wasn’t the best paying job it was still better than nothing to help provide a cushion for the necessities. She turned the sign to closed like she said she would and started her walk back across the city to Sunmote Tower. 

Pyraelia was going to have to help her write a resume.

[ymbrynae]

2021 vs 2023 Yael SpringWhisper, my Eladrin Elf Multiclass Rouge/Bard. Hide your silvers, she likes shiny things 😂

[thepilgrimofwar]

Emissary of the Fallen

She sat alone with her drink in a tavern at the edge of the world. Back to the wall. Eyes focused half on the lukewarm ale and half on the door. The weight of all the war bearing down upon her shoulders.

Die for your country.

Those were Zarannis’ last orders to her Farstriders, as she lay dying in a field of summer flowers. She watched as they disobeyed, screening Fury Company while they still lived, braving the blood and brine from that accursed tide-caster Ralleigh.

Die for your country damn you.

She had sneered then, as she sneered now at her drink. Remembering as Ellinia’s marines stole her body from the wreckage of fallen banners and bodies. But the remnants of the Kestrels kept disobeying- continuing their vigil over their commander until she was safely off the field.

Die like the finest of us. Vicren Springwhisper. Woods. Darsi. Why should you live when the best of us fall?

It was at that battle, where two companies of her finest Farstriders were torn asunder. Fighting to buy time for the Northern Vanguard to retreat. Encircled by the Alliance and dying to a man- except her.

‘Die for your country.’ She had ordered the last captain of the Kestrels. But he had refused. Saving her life and the lives of her comrades.

-

Zarannis laid still, curled into herself, staring at the canvas walls of the field hospital. She had not moved since she had penned her report to the Archon. Of retreat. Of defeat. Hundreds of lives lost, including their Nightborne allies from across the North Sea. 

“You have a visitor,” announced the Oathsworn Dawnmender on duty who ushered in a blood covered Farstrider, bearing the insignia of the Kestrel Lodge on his lapel.

“Kestrel, Ranger Summersong reporting” he saluted his commander who hadn’t bothered to face him. “The casualties have been tallied. Two hundred and fifty nine dead. Hundred and ninety eight wounded. Thirty missing.” There was no response from Zarannis, it was unclear if she was even listening. But that did not seem to bother the company captain in the slightest. He continued counting off their numbers for her benefit. “Fifty three Farstriders remain combat ready. The wounded can be mended and be back in action in a matter of days- Light willing. We await your orders, Kestrel.”

“Stop calling me that,” Zarannis croaked, her throat dry as dust. “The Kestrel lays in an unmarked grave outside Tor’Watha. All real successors lay in pieces under the burnt husk of our Lodge. It’s nothing more than a dead title for a dead man.”

The captain paused, then pulled to him a field chair. Sitting by his commander’s bedside, he spoke softly. “Do you know why The Kestrel lays in that unmarked grave? Because you gathered us up to go after him. Do you know why the rest of us haven’t joined him in the ground? Because you stole us from the Amani. I don’t call you Kestrel because the title fell to you. I do so because we followed your lead. You earned our command.”

“And I commanded you to die,” Zarannis snapped, the disdain made plain in her voice. But the fight soon left her and she curled once more into herself, as if she was in agony.

“And I respectfully disobeyed,” Summersong responded. “Sometimes you need to act against orders in the best interest of your men.”

The words had cut her deeper than she had expected and she lay still once more. “What’s your name Ranger?”

“Keres Summersong.”

“What do you want from me Keres?” Zarannis asked the man, to which the Ranger obliged.

“The final battle at the Sunwell is at hand. It might even already be over. We need our commander. Not just for the Kestrels but the entire Northern Vanguard. Whatever the outcome of the battle, we need to be ready for it.”

Zarannis coughed, the dryness in her throat causing her voice to crack. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you’re a bigger coward than I thought possible.”

“Cowardice?” Zarannis stirred again, fire returning to her. “You think it is cowardice that would make me refuse? Is it cowardice that I won’t throw hundreds of lives away a second time, all for nothing?!” She broke down in a fit of coughing.

“Would you have preferred to throw thousands away? The last battle would have been a slaughter had you not sounded the retreat. Many did not make it out, but I think you fail to realize that you still saved enough of the Vanguard that it still needs leadership.” Keres handed her his waterskin, which she took with a measure of desperation. “Don’t you dare push that responsibility on the rest of us.”

-

“You look nothing like the General of the Northern Vanguard,” Beathyn jested, pulling out a seat for himself before her. “Took longer than I care to admit to track you down.”

Zarannis was pulled back to the present, and the ever warming mug of ale that had long lost its foam top. She gazed at him in her time-lost state, measuring her friend’s features and a cheek-to-cheek smile. She hated him for it. Had he not also led men to their deaths? Had he not also ended the lives of hundreds?

“That,” she sneered. “That was a title I neither asked for or wanted.”

He raised her eyebrow at her. “Then why did you volunteer for it?”

More memories flashed in her mind’s eye, dredging up old promises that she could not keep and people she could not save. 

“Someone had to.” Zarannis looked him in the eyes. “You lost men during the campaign didn’t you?”

The smile on his face faded. “I did.”

“I lost everything that I held dear. The Lodge, the Farstriders, the Tal’dorei who followed me, the Oathsworn of the Northern Vanguard, and the order for which they died for. I lost them all. So I detest the title. It’s tainted with their blood.”

Beathyn held her gaze and matched it with an intensity of his own. A rare sight for those that knew the light-hearted man. “You were among the Waywatcher Assassins. A Farstrider that held the border of the Amani for centuries. Blood is your profession, Zarannis. As it was theirs.”

“Not anymore.” Zarannis turned away, focusing on her drink. “Not a Farstrider, not a General, and not a pawn of Solendis’ schemes. Just a girl.”

“Fair enough,” Beathyn nodded, sliding over an envelope in front of her. “So you can attend this as just-a-girl then.”

Zarannis spied the Emberheart's wax seal. “What is this? A bribe?”

“It’s an invitation,” he replied. “A funeral of a friend.” Beathyn rose to his feet, dusted himself off and rose to his feet. “And that’s all?”

He nodded. “I’ve got to deliver more of these now.” Beathyn turned to leave. “You can head over early. It’s not for another few weeks but I’m sure they won’t mind. They’ve got enough guest beds to put up a garrison.”

-

CC0 Public Domain Image

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @curiouslich @thanidiel @esheyn @thenaaru @forever-afk @cynfuldax @felthier​ @azriah​ @korkrunchcereal​

The Invitations are coming

[bosses-stay-flawless]

The branches are bare, yet the roots remain strong, before long leaves will form, only to once again fall. One cycle ends while another begins, infinite without end.

#springwhispers #newbeginnings #vibinwiththetrees #gentlebreeze #grounding

[warriors-cat-names-for-your-use]

Springwhisper

[infinite-dog]

A training tour through some of western Jorvik with SpringWhisper. Nice to finally get some training done in the daylight.

[aciiid]

How did you become so gorgeous?

hrawkerlthrle;t i'm really not aw but thank you :))) <3

[verdantvisionsai]

Amidst the gentle breeze, the cherry blossoms dance in a symphony of soft white petals, whispering secrets of spring's awakening. Capturing the delicate beauty of nature in full bloom is like capturing a moment of serenity and wonder, inviting us to pause and admire the ephemeral magic that surrounds us. Let the whispers of spring enchant your soul as you immerse yourself in the breathtaking allure of cherry blossoms.

[verdantvisionsai]

Embracing the soothing symphony of spring, feeling its rhythm echo through the fresh canvas of a world reborn. "In the quiet whisper of the wind, in the gentle kiss of the rain, discover the serene language of mindful existence, untouched by time, unspoiled by pain." This wisdom invites us to connect deeper, to breathe in the fragrance of delicate blossoms and let the soft, dew-laden grass tickle our bare feet. As buds bloom into flowers, so can we unfurl, shedding past sorrows, opening ourselves up to the light, the renewal. In every moment nature offers us, we find a sanctuary, its pristine beauty a testament to life's resilience, its harmonious cycle a dance infinitely graceful. Listen, watch, feel - this is Earth's tender lullaby, the sweet refrain of spring's awakening song.

[ymbrynae]

Meme with my mean queen Yael Springwhisper, 3 level bard and 1 level rouge, Eladrin Spring Elf. Click for better quality

[ymbrynae]

Yael Springwhisper, my Eladrin multiclass Bard/Rouge. She's a selfish brat, who keep a lot of secrets, but I love her very much.

Happy pride y'all ♥️🏳️‍🌈

[thepilgrimofwar]

A Daughter of Wind and Winter

1.

Zarannis punched her fist into the air and brought her company to a halt. Between snow drifted trees she could see that The Farstrider sentries of Kestrel Lodge were not at their posts. The raised platforms hidden beneath pine tree camouflage had never been empty since the Lodge’s founding. But here they were, with not a soul in any of them.

She snapped her fingers and pointed to the Farstriders behind her, signalling them to scout ahead while the rest of them kept on high alert. Bows at the ready as snow melted into their greaves.

Not the Lodge. She swore. That's impossible.

The scouts returned.

“It’s clear all the way to the Lodge. There was blood at the entrance,” said Vicren, lead scout and her second in command.

“You’re in charge Springwhisper. Secure the perimeter and man the abandoned posts. If I’m not back in half an hour, continue towards Silvermoon,” Zarannis told the scout and turned towards the two Tel’dorei scouts to her side. “Wood and Darsi with me,” she said. Fear was evident in her voice. Not from the anticipation of a fight, but of what she might find within the Lodge

The door was left ajar, propped open by the snows that had begun to fill the entrance way to the Lodge that she had called home. The scouts had failed to mention how the blood seemed to spill out from the doorway, like the entrance to a village slaughterhouse.

“Stay behind me,” she said and Wood and Darsi kept their bows aimed over her shoulders as she pushed open the door with her sword, revealing a scene straight from hell. Half-eaten bodies hung from the ceiling, gutted, cleaned and drained like cattle. She fought the urge the cough from disgust as she journeyed inside. This wasn’t new to her. She had cleaned up the aftermath of Troll Berzerkers before. But to see mighty Farstriders hung to dry like livestock both shocked and appalled her.

The Tel’dorei followed her silently, unsure if anything lurked within the bowels of the once great hall. All there was to be heard was the wailing of winter winds and the dripping of snowmelt.

“There’s Captain Blackburrow. Longarrow,” Zarannis said, nodding towards the end of the long table where hundreds of Farstriders once ate. There in a sick mimicry of a Wintersveil feast, the Farstrider officers lay in peices, remnants of meat still on their bones. Zarannis could tell it was them from the shards of armor that were tossed aside like fish scales.

“And the others?” Darsi asked, feeling safe enough to reply her commander.

Zarannis gestured towards the living quarters with her sword, where a mess of bone and flesh were stored. “They broke in the ceiling there. To let the cold preserve the meat.”

Woods swallowed. “Are we all that’s left?”

“I doubt it. We had several companies that operated out of here. Odds are, whoever did this is out hunting for more. Got to stock up before winter kicks in.” Zarannis buried her nose in her elbow as she moved aside a few hanging bodies with her blade.

“What’re you doing?” Woods mumbled and coughed.

Zarannis checked the table scraps. “Looking for the Ranger-Lord. He isn’t here.”

“Maybe that’s who they’re out looking for,” Darsi muttered as she lowered her bow at last.

Zarannis tsked, and began walking towards the door. “I want you two to gather all the firewood stacked at the sides of the Lodge and storehouse,” she said, her words echoing about the feasting hall. “I want you to build pyres against the walls of this place and then I want you to burn our home to the ground.”

Capture from The Revenant

@retributionpriest @thanidiel @stormandozone @thenaaru @dorksworn

[thepilgrimofwar]

A Daughter of Wind and Winter

2.

“Ma’am,” Vicren saluted her as she approached, walking away as their Lodge burned behind them. The smell was awful. Like a swine farm that had gone up in flames.

“Funeral pyre,” she explained. “The warparty was using it as a larder. Now they can starve with the rest of us.”

“The warparty?”

I counted at least forty of our number inside. Add another twenty I couldn’t see. Twenty more that might have fled into the wilderness. How many trolls do you think would take to overrun eighty Farstriders?”

Vicren shook his head. Hundreds was the unspoken answer.  “So what now?”

“We hunt,” Zarannis announced, sheathing her blade across her back. “First and second Talon companies are still out there. We find the warparty, we find them. With any luck, The Kestrel himself will be out there too. Didn’t see him amongst the carnage within.”

“Just the Kestrel?” Vicren frowned.

“I’m the last of the officers. The rest are now meeting their makers in there,” she gestured at the Lodge of the Kestrel. “Now get the troops ready to move. With luck, they’re not too far off.”

They followed the trail left by the warparty. Though they had most of their tracks covered by the snow, the scouts followed the intermittent trail of trash, feces, and the occasional body of a troll who had wronged their leader. Numbering in the hundreds, there was always something to follow. Her initial suspicions led her to believe that it had been a centralized, coordinated attack. But as they tracked them through the first Thalassian winter in millenia, the more she saw, the more she began to understand that what she believed was further than the truth.

Signs of cannibalism. Mounds of frozen corpses piled against the Blacksun Gate. The devastation that thousands of Trolls on the warpath left on the way to Elrendar Lake and the holdings that surrounded them. The Amani that had taken the Lodge, were just a splinter force of something way larger. Something that had already taken place and whose consequences would be felt for generations to come.

“My guess,” Zarannis said suddenly, breaking the oppressive silence that they carried with them as they made discovery after terrifying discovery. “Is that they wanted to remove the Kestrels from the equation at the start of their invasion.”

“They?” Asked Wood.

“Whichever Warlord who’s responsible. The warparty is a specialized one. Waited for the companies to be out before attacking the Lodge.”

Vicren piped up. “So they’ve been watching us for awhile now.”

Zarannis shook her head. “No, we’d have noticed them. Which means this warparty is led by someone who knows us. Knew that we were out recruiting. Knew that Slate companies were overseas. Knew exactly when Talon companies were out hunting.”

“Traitor,” stated Darsi.

“Or someone responsible for our missing scouts,”  their commander’s expression darkened. “And cruel enough to make them speak.”

3.

She could feel his breath upon her skin. It made her smile. He was whispering things she could not understand, but knew were sweet. It was in the softness of his husky voice, the way the words seemed to roll off his tongue. ‘Vien,’ she laughed. But when she turned to kiss him, all she saw was the way he was hung from that black shrine. Flayed. Skull taken. Blood-

The hand on her shoulder shook her awake.

“Your turn on watch,” said Vicren.

Zarannis rubbed sleep from her eyes and the cold from her joints. “How long until dawn?”

“Should rise by the time your shift ends,” he said, warming his hands by smokeless magical fire. “You know, if we find that The Kestrel is dead, does that mean you’re our new Ranger-Lord?”

“Ranger-Lord of what? A burned Lodge and handful of survivors?” She managed a humorless chuckle and an actual answer. “I’ll be acting commander of the Kestrel Lodge. Until they find a replacement.”

“You don’t think you qualify?”

“You need royal approval, a ceremony, and an obnoxious amount of fanfare. I hate fanfare,” Zarannis rolled up her bedroll and readied her bow. “How about it Ranger-Lord Springwhisper?”

Vicren laughed, “Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Ranger-General Wintergale. Unlike you, I don’t have a single drop of noble blood in my body.”

“I’ve been disowned. Disgraced.”

“Better than a runaway peasant boy from Duskwither.”

Patting her subordinate on the back, she moved out to watchover the perimeter. To call where they slept a camp would be misleading. Without tents or the glow of embers, the Farstriders slept on nothing more than bedrolls under bivouacs, with concealed arcanic flames nearby. Snowfall had been sufficient camouflage, coating everything in thick coats of white.  

“Where do you think they’re off to?” Asked Woods. The Tel’dorei scout was looking out over the rivers and fields beneath the mountain in the starlight. Though he hadn’t been scheduled to take watch this night, he was up anyway.

“The warparty? Hunting probably,” Zarannis replied, settling in beside him, watching as dark, snow-bearing clouds crawled slowly across the sky. “The Lodge was their cold storage, with luck we’ll catch them as the swing back with more food for the winter.”

“Elves, you mean.”

Zarannis shook her head. “If they’re dead, they’re just meat.”

Hung from flayed skin. Skull taken. Blood-sacrificed. They did not eat him. They do not feed on meat meant for the gods.

“You don’t believe our bodies are vessels for our souls?” Woods said, eyes never leaving the view from the mountainside.

“They are, until the point of death. At which point they fall back into the natural order of things. To be consumed and given back to the earth.”

The Bloodblessed scout looked at her. “Surprising, considering you city elves treat your meat vessels with reverence long after death. Hold funeral rites. Some of you even build disgusting tombs of masonry.”

“We don’t do that where I came from,” Zarannis watched as snow began to fall upon the rivers and the fields before them. “Where I’m from, we are burned and offer our bodies to the wind.”

“And do you gather round and weep?”

“No, there’s no reason to,” she replied. “We do not mourn the free.”

She had not wept. Not when she took Vien down from that altar. Not when she cleaned him, burned him, and let his ashes scatter to the wind. He had been born a Clansman of the Hawk, and though he had been Unwelcomed, it was only fitting that she gave him the rites of the clan they both loved. But a problem remained with his bones, the shards of which that remained amongst the ashes. By tradition, they were supposed to go to his family but Vien had none. So knowing they were to be carried by the ones who loved him, Zarannis took them. Now she carried him with her, wherever she went. Through flowers and fields, through fire and blood, and through nightmares where she could not weep.

Gif from Adventurer-in-strange-lands

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel @thenaaru @dorksworn @spiralsandbloodknights